


there's just this thing aboutcha

by knightship



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, knotting dildos are a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 07:31:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightship/pseuds/knightship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turns out dildos with knots actually exist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's just this thing aboutcha

**Author's Note:**

> For thegrumpiestwolf over on tumblr, because she's amazing and found out these exist and I was too weird to leave it alone. Was originally going to contain a sex scene and be posted yesterday, but neither of those things were working, so I thought I'd console myself by at least posting it.

“Does your dick actually do that?” Stiles asks, shoving his phone under Scott’s nose. He’s not high per say, but close enough that it hadn’t seemed like a weird idea at all to look up the little itching question he’s had and ask Scott. Anyways, Scott’s taken the bottle from him, so it’s not like he can get any worse.

They’re bros. Bros ask each other this type of question all the time. Right? Well, if not, he can write it off as werewolf research. Of the most important variety.

Scott’s eyebrows do something traumatized and fascinated, and he takes Stiles’ phone and turns it around, looking at it upside down.

“Uh. No? Ew, Stiles. It says these are modeled after dog dicks. Who even does that?”

Stiles laughs venomously from where he’s sort-of sprawled across Scott’s legs.

“Obviously you haven’t been paying attention enough, Scott. People do that because people are weird fucks. When they have access to the internet they come up with freaky shit to shove up their ass. Proven fact.”

Scott gives Stiles a wholly judgemental look, which is highly unwarranted, okay. Stiles gapes at him.

“What? I didn’t! I swear, I have not shoved something weird up my ass. Except like, my fingers.”

“Oh god, I knew it!” Scott says, covering his face and groaning. Stiles grabs his way up Scott’s body until they’re kind of face to face, shaking him a little.

“Hey! It’s not gay unless it’s another dude. And it’s not bad, like seriously. But lube. Dude. _Lube_.”

“I never, ever wanted to know that much about what you do when you’re alone. And is that the one you- ew no!” Scott rolls in a desperate attempt to protect his face from Stiles’ hands, and Stiles is shrieking with laughter and intoning in a loud, grave voice, “ASS HAND, SCOTT, ASS HAND” as they slide off the couch and onto the floor. Stiles is not at all surprised to find that, once Scott has sat on his chest and held his hands down with his feet, that he would look up and find his father staring down at them, just home from patrol and looking way too spent to be dealing with his shit.

“Hi, Dad,” he says weakly, because he can’t really get a deep breath with Scott’s fat ass on his chest.

“I don’t want to know, but if this is a thing, please use a condom,” he says wearily, and Scott smirks victoriously up at the Sheriff.

“No way, Sheriff. Stiles has cooties.”

“Do not! You have cooties! _Allison cooties_ ,” he says, and Scott rolls off of him with a sour look.

His dad just shakes his head and goes to the kitchen, and he forces himself up to help make sure he doesn’t order take-out instead of eating the kind of awful but really healthy casserole Stiles made from the box the other day. 

When he comes back, Scott’s got a devious grin on his face and Stiles phone in his hand. This never cause for anything but awfulness, so he feels no guilt in shoving his hand in Scott’s face and snatching up his phone.

The website says “order complete”, and displays his shipping and billing information and a tracking number.

“Scott! Dude, you assmunch! That was expensive!”

Scott just howls with laughter and kicks at Stiles’ stomach as they wrestle.

-

Stiles doesn’t think about it again until the package (thankfully subtle as hell, god) arrives.

“Mail for you, Stiles,” his dad says, hunched over paperwork and gesturing vaguely at a box.

He lets out a gleeful noise and slices at the tape, and then nearly fumbles the whole thing onto the floor when he sees what’s inside. Instead he slaps the lid shut, and looks up to see if his dad is paying attention. He is, but in that “why do you function the way you do” way, not the “you’re a disappointment of a human being” way. Sweet baby Jesus, he’s never been so relieved.

“What’s that?” his dad asks, more out of routine than real curiosity. Probably to make sure he’s not trying to order explosives off the internet again.

“Uh. You know. Just a thing. Thing for a thing me and Scott were talking about. An internet thing.”

It’s not strictly a lie, and the truth part must show on his face, because his dad just raises an eyebrow and goes back to his paperwork. Stiles takes the fuck off, up to his bedroom.

When he’s there, he dumps the box on the bed, flips up the lid, and crosses his arms over his chest.

It’s a fairly modest, semi-realistic size, which means Scott actually thinks he’s going to use it, the weirdo. The knot is kind of big, though, big enough that he squints at it, and then realizes he’s actually looking at it critically, like he is going to use it.

He hadn’t thought about it before, not really, and considers the idea briefly. It’d be kind of...really hot. Not the dog dick thing, the idea of a werewolf dick. Something new, different that the awful cramp he keeps getting in his shoulder from stretching his arm at that angle. Bigger and fuller than his own fingers, more solid. Being plugged up like that, or even just stretched... He does have some lube, and if he used his fingers first-

There’s the sound of his dad getting up from downstairs, and that puts the thought wholly out of his mind. Nope, not going to even contemplate that with his father conscious and moving. He’d prefer him to be out of the house totally. So he shuts the box and shoves it under his bed and then gets distracted by his phone blaring.

-

The box gets forgotten again until something so stupid, so fucking idiotic that he feels kind of ashamed for using it as spank bank material, but he can’t help himself, okay, he’s sixteen, what do you expect?

They’d been tracking the kelpie because it was unusual for one to show up so far from the coast, and they didn’t know if it was hurt or looking for hunting ground.

The question had been answered when they found it, and Derek had pushed him back with one hand as the horse with spectral eyes snorted out fog in the humid morning air.

With a shimmer like fog but not, the horse was suddenly a man, with water-slick, slightly shiny skin and not a stitch of clothing, but thick hair that ran like a pelt over his head and neck, down his back.

“I claim sanctuary in these waters, wolf,” it said, in a creaky, formal voice. Derek nodded in the same formal way.

“Then I offer you carnal tribute in exchange for watching over those of mine that may wander into your realm,” he says, and the man’s grin is full of over-large square teeth, stained black and brown as he leers at Stiles. His eyes have no pupils, and it sends a shiver of magic down Stiles’ spine, a tentative claim that has him wavering where he stands.

Derek clamps a hand around his neck, and for some reason that breaks the thread, has him back inside his own skin when he’s should still be caught in the kelpie’s web.

“Not him. Myself.”

“Ah, but I haven’t had a human in so long, nor one so fresh. Just a nibble?” the man asks, and Derek tightens his grip on Stiles’ neck, his palm huge and soft, which is such a juxtaposition to how he thinks it should be.

“No. Stiles, you should go. And don’t look back,” he says, and shoots Stiles a look that is so wide-open he can’t even begin to pick apart the layers of it.

“Um. Okay. You’ll be alright though, won’t you?” he says, glancing at the kelpie. They fucking eat people, okay, he’s not entirely comfortable leaving Derek alone with one. 

“Yeah. Go, Stiles. And don’t look.”

The words put a heavy and unsettling weight in his stomach, but he turns to leave.

He can hear, though, and he’s not a fucking idiot. There’s a heady gasp as he leaves the trees, and the sound of a shirt ripping, then wet skin on skin.

He has a feeling that carnal doesn’t necessarily mean blood, in this case. 

By the time he gets back to his house Derek’s texted him an incredibly cryptic but relieving “Not dead. Kelpie’s on our side now.” And for some reason he can’t stop thinking about it, the look in Derek’s eyes and the way he said “don’t look” and those noises, he can imagine it, he can see what it would look like in his head, the kelpie plastered against Derek, wringing noises out of him with his hands, and it shouldn’t be hot because that kelpie was fairly gross-looking, really, but it’s Derek-

He strips out of his wet clothes and falls onto the bed already half-hard, eyes shut as he touches himself. God, the noises Derek would make, the noises Stiles would love to hear him make.

He has to stop or he’ll just keep going, so he rolls over onto his stomach to grope under the bed for the box he’s just remembered, laughing in triumph because _Scott thought he would use it_ , oh, how brilliant it is to have friends that know your curiosity can never leave well enough alone, never mind the 55 bucks it cost him.

His dad also knows him well, because he’d happened to borrow Stiles’ laptop the other day, and when he got it back it came with a grocery-store-brand 65 fluid ounce bottle of lube, with a fucking hand pump like he was going to use it like hand sanitizer. He bought hand sanitizer two weeks ago, and it’s almost full, while the brand new bottle is a quarter of the way empty. Yeah, he doesn’t use it like hand sanitizer.

Stiles gets his hand wet first and gets on his knees, breathing a damp spot into his pillow as he stretches his arm back. His finger doesn’t slide in like he wants it to until he gets the feel of Derek’s hand on the back of his neck again and then it goes in like a hot knife through butter, making him gasp. Usually he doesn’t fool around with more than that, because it’s good and he has long fingers, and the angle is good and the lube is great, but he imagines that squeeze against the back of his neck, and his finger is suddenly too skinny. He presses in another, gritting his teeth at the initial tension that he fights past until he can get both of them deep, pressing tight inside, and then he thinks about Derek’s mouth, the words “don’t look” in his teeth and his lips, and the look in his eyes. He goes loose again, and it makes him shudder at how deep he can get before his shoulder stops him.

Two is enough, he thinks, and grabs the stupid black werewolf cock and coats it in lube.

The tip is tapered, and he didn’t think that would matter so much until he gets it behind him and poised to enter him. When he gives it a little pressure it slides in sure enough, but it’s way, way different than his fingers. It’s inanimate, for one thing, but the silicone is has enough give that Stiles can close his eyes for a second and think about Derek and his wide-open eyes and his mouth and that gasp he gave and carry it a note further, to Derek eager and pushing him down like this and pushing in like the dildo is pushing into him, a steady, scary pressure that he opens to with a dry-throated swallow. He’s never been so hard, never been so hot to get off, but he wants all of it, he wants to get that swollen knot inside of himself and feel it pushing to get back out with a kind of desperation that doesn’t make any sense. 

Stiles keeps pushing it in, and for a minute he worries that it’s never going to end, but then the knot bumps up against his ass and he gets a moment of clarity, to realize he’s got a rubber werewolf dick up his ass that Scott bought him off the internet, and he wants to laugh, but he’s afraid if he does he might end up crying about how fucking weird this is and he wants to get off, okay, that would be the opposite of productive right now. So he adjusts his shoulders so he can get a good breath and ease the crick in his neck and spreads his knees a little better, and rocks the dildo until he’s panting and loose and it keeps nudging deeper and more insistent, like Derek would be, impatient to fuck all the way into him.

With a bit more give and a more desperate push, he swallows the widest part, and it’s way more intense than he thought it would be. He almost wants to yank it out and take a cold shower to forget the whole ordeal, but instead he presses his face into the pillow and breathes until he can’t bear it anymore and shoves at the base of the dildo with his hand, harder than he should have.

The whole knot is in him, and he’s so worked up that it takes three little thrusts and the electromagnetic color of Derek’s eyes and he’s gone. It’s the most intense orgasm he’s ever had, and he wasn’t even touching himself, and it seems to go on too long even after it’s over. The dildo pops out much faster than it went in, and he feels like he’s gaping so wide that it leaves him even more breathless.

Stiles wipes his hands on his sheets, tosses the dildo back into it’s box, and leaves all the disquiet in his mind for the morning.

-

He never actually gets around to thinking about the implications of thinking about Derek while fucking himself with a dumb knotting dildo until Derek’s breaking the vines holding his wrists with this tight, bitchy look on his face and Scott is making faces at him over his shoulder that he can’t interpret.

“Holy shit, thank god. How did you guys find me? The nymphs said they covered my scent by, uh, making me horny,” he jokes, and Derek grabs him by the bicep and hauls him unceremoniously up to his feet.

“We found your stash,” he says tightly, and Scott is making “abort abort!” gestures, but Stiles just frowns.

“Stash?”

“Your sex toys,” Derek says, lips curling back from his teeth like it’s a dirty word.

Stiles goes hot all over. This is every awful scenario played out right in front of him, but he just nods like a nimrod.

“Well that’s good then! That I had that. That I didn’t wash it, I mean, and it’s not a stash, one does not constitute a stash, okay-”

Derek looks so, so close to murdering someone, and thank god for Scott.

“Stiles! Dude, uh, so you’re not hurt, right?” he says, reaching around and tugging Stiles away like he’s going to be able to protect him at all from Derek’s wrath.

“No, I mean, I feel kind of violated,” and oh, that is so the wrong word to pick if Derek’s nostril flare flinch combo is anything to go by, “but I’m good. We should go home.”

“Best idea you’ve had all night. Thanks Derek, I can take it from here,” Scott says, and manhandles him all the way to the Jeep, glancing back every now and then to check if Derek’s still looks so constipated with rage. Yeah, he does. Great.

“Holy fucking shit, I didn’t actually think you’d use it, it was supposed to be a joke!” Scott says as soon as they’re ensconced in the Jeep, and Stiles shrugs as expansively as he can.

“I didn’t know I was going to use it either, it just sorta happened?” he says, and Scott makes a disbelieving, entirely way too judgemental face at him.

“So what, you just slipped and fell and happened to fall on the dog dick dildo I bought you as a joke?” he yells, and Stiles slumps in bewildered defeat.

“No, but I- come on, man, I was horny! Like you don’t do stupid shit when you’re horny? And don’t even say you don’t, I have documented proof, you can quit it with the bitch face.”

“Yeah, but I know you weren’t thinking about me when you were using that,” Scott growls, and Stiles sneers at him because he’s mature and he doesn’t like where this conversation is going.

“And what if I was?”

“Oh, please,” Scott scoffs, “I picked apart your room, and I could tell how long it’s been since you used that, and what you were wearing that night. Who you were _with_ that night,” he says, and he’s going quickly from judgmental to downright accusing, and it’s getting on Stiles’ nerves.

“So I had one fantasy about Derek Hale, how does that suddenly mean you have the right to get all up on your high horse?” he snaps, and reaches out to start the Jeep.

Scott’s hand closes around his wrist and yanks it back up.

“Because Derek is dangerous, Stiles-”

“No fucking duh, Scott, but he has actually stuck his neck out for me a time or two. I trust him, alright? Which has no bearing on the situation whatsoever, actually, because there’s nothing going on here! I have no actual interest in Derek and he clearly has no interest in me! And that’s not even mentioning the fact that your ex-girlfriend shot at least two people we go to school with full of arrows, so you don’t get to say that he’s dangerous and that makes it all better!”

He twists his wrist out of Scott’s grip and starts his Jeep.

They don’t talk to each other the whole ride to Scott’s, and when he jerks to a stop and Scott turns to look at him, he doesn’t even acknowledge him. He has the right to be a bit angry, okay, just for the night.

“You’re welcome, you know, for saving you,” Scott snarls, and Stiles is so shocked by the derision in his voice that he actually doesn’t know what to say, so he just reaches across and slams the passenger door shut, narrowly avoiding Scott’s feet when he takes off.

He’s still fuming when he gets into his room, and so when he finds Derek waiting in his desk chair, Stiles doesn’t even bother acting surprised, he skips straight over it to pissed.

“Oh my God, can you not be a total creep for one time in your life and leave me alone?”

In the silence that follows, Stiles realizes exactly how harsh that sounded, and Derek seems to ignore it entirely and gets up.

“I just wanted to point out that you were lying earlier,” he says, hands in his pockets and gaze intense. It’s like his murderous edge from when they found him has transferred to pure focus, and right now that’s all focused at Stiles.

“Lying- what, when?”

“In the car with Scott. When you said you had no actual interest in me.”

Stiles just stares at him, and amazingly it seems to make Derek lose some steam, because he sighs a little through his teeth.

“And if I had been the one to say that I had no interest in you, and you could hear my heartbeat, then you would know that I’d be lying too.”

It’s the awkwardest confession Stiles has ever heard, and he’s watched a lot of really bad anime.

“Okay. Can I sleep now?”

Derek honestly seems surprised by the brush-off, but Stiles is not in the mood for this. He’s pissed at Scott and he’s pissed at Derek and he’s pissed at himself, and the whole night has been a lesson in mortification that he really didn’t need, he’s got plenty of experience already, thanks.

He scrubs a hand over his face, groaning. He is too tired for this shit, and he was kidnapped by nymphs today. Angry, thorny nymphs that wanted to do probably horrible things to him, he thinks he deserves a break.

“Look, I’m sure this was way more epic in your head, and normally I would love to have this big happy, sexy resolution to all the sexual tension clearly happening here, but right now I would just like to sleep, alright? We can have the big happy sexy resolution in the morning.”

Derek seems to consider that for a moment, then strips out of his jacket and toes off his shoes. Of course he does. Stiles throws up his hands.

“Okay, of course you’re invited. Let’s fucking _snuggle_.”

“Calm down,” Derek says, and that hand is on the back of his neck again, squeezing, and he sighs and lets himself enjoy it this time. They stand there for what seems like forever, and then Stiles kicks off his sneakers too and they crawl into bed.

He’s not quite sure what to do with another person in his bed, so Stiles hugs his pillow and stares over the crest of it at Derek as he settles. It’s quiet and awkward, and then Derek reaches over and settles a hand on his side.

“Werewolves don’t actually have those, you know,” he says, and there’s a cruel amusement in his mouth that makes Stiles scowl.

“Have what?” because Stiles is never going to be obnoxious.

“That giant swollen knot thing. Whoever made that up deserves to be punched in the dick,” Derek says, and Stiles huffs in mock disbelief.

“You’re telling me your dick doesn’t really do that? Well now I’m downright offended! I am being deprived of a great fantasy of mine!” 

Derek’s face does something uncertain, and Stiles knows all about self-doubt and taking things people say in a joke way too seriously, so he rolls over until he’s practically smothering Derek with his limbs.

“Great thing is, we still have that dildo,” he says, making ridiculous eyebrows at him, but Derek’s hands clench in his shirt, his eyes hot and his smile smug.

“Yeah, we do.”


End file.
